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Continue to complain about the life I suffer? This site is done, but not the stories. I have seen some very improbable scenarios come to fruition in the past few years. I know, as I wrote them. As the author of my work… But, today gets a cake. An orange one. Enjoy my dinner.

A completely different introduction than I had been contemplating for another article – and site – this morning after I fought out of sleep. I got up ready to declare war on the other side. The brutal attack yesterday and the day before yester’s yester, showed me to put an end to the TI ‘game’. If I still have to fight people in my sleep, then when can I rest? Yeah, I know the answer. I went to the same indoctrination and propaganda schools as most. But, IS the other side not deaSh?!

The odd thing was that through all the ridicule in the earliest hours, I kept hearing “commando”. Not a good calling card to leave after recent brutal attacks. But, it seemed like one visitor was different from the other intruders acting ill. Without proper messages the other side looks… well, deranged? I deal with people telling me dumb stories. Some looking for fears as if they go down a list to try to distract me from their thieving, some looking for dirt of the gossipable kind that also serves to get used against me to distract me from their thieving, some seek to take control and to push me to thief for them or else spill the beans on where to thief as they distract me from their other thieving, some seek to align with me to better mimic me so they can go about their other thieving pretending to be me. Much thieving going on on the other side.

The whole circus production is depressing. They do not care that I can see them, as they consider me ‘asleep’ as I look at their dumb stories unfold instead of them thieving. Thieving is not the worst they do. But as long as I cannot see exactly how they do it, I am nowhere near ‘woke’. To them I am the “deranged” one. Me? “You do not listen. You need to listen. Listen to what the woman says.” Listen to more lies? NO. Let me show you truth. How your ‘fair game’ principle works on both sides of the fake line causing much harm. As if I do not know it is only a cover. Fantasy island. The real subtle shielded. Why? To have to ask means not to have been allowed into spy school. Wait. I was at spy school. I just did not know it. Damned Amstel pride. I could have been married to the son of some rich African despot, but, oh no, I wanted to be independent – this utterly fake virtue popular in the ‘90s – and learn something real, like… science. Should have called myself ‘Bubba’ while I was at it.

Stuck to a dark propaganda past, while others get to spy ahead. No Buffet-t, it is not ‘nostalgia’ to look back and see the lies. A whole page and that is all you got to say about the thievery? You’re not making friends here. I guess you got what you did not pay for. My next company may be named CLG because of it. You do not get it? Six holy geez, no need to try and stare me down. Just some millionaire humor. Some billionaires like it, some get bored. Either way, to not be a duck, but a swan. That is, for me to move on gracefully while I still can. (Oh, now you smile.)

Back to the mess on my mind this morning. Slow burning anger coming to forefront as I could not escape the affront. Still upset over the attacks, I called it high time to expose the intruders. If only I could make sense of the repeat “commando” call that did not seem in line with the dumb ridicule on display. If it was not for my love of candy, I would not have been able to see that there really were commandos at work last night. An outright war averted as I doubt that any commando would be as stupid as to attack me in my sleep. They know I have a bad side. And a mean pen.

Ill sleep did not stop me from noticing that there had been a black out. The intruders forced to move back to help get it fixed. Power out, and the guises of the intruders fell away. ‘Hello all y’all, good to see you again. I will have something for you on my site as soon as I wake up out of your hot mess, and conjure up a response.’ But, someone else seemed to be watching me struggle in my ‘sleep’. “Commando”? Hmmm, no… do not know anyone by that name. Back to fighting retarded stories based on what I was yet to write. But, wait, do the tech tools of the commando not also work on electricity?! No need for mystery, seek the obvious answer: NOT electricity from the house he entered. Enough said.

Tired and chagrined, yet to go see if there were any messages in the news papers to give an after-the-fact warning. Duh, my every move in there. Thin line between famous and surveillance. Everthemore, they manage perfect silence on where to go get my FAT pay check just fine. Checking the financial papers to no avail, unless to consider smoke-signaling Xi for a little something something. Two guys with electric cigarettes could do the trick. But, I have even bigger smokers at my disposal. I did not get married to that ghost pilot, but his friends do not pretend to no longer know me. Make an airliner circle in flight cannot be as easy as with a chopper, but I have seen them do it. Often. Nothing wrong with their timing.

Still plotting for writer’s revenge, I had to see about some meager lunch. Cannot get decent cheap candy anywhere these days. Stop messing with my sugar!! Forced to buy replacement ‘food’ and keep my mind off figuring out where to get my new H2O supply, I grumbled as I approached the palace. It is a miracle I got there at all. All those millenials walking like crabs in my way. What is wrong with them? Technology. Look at the military. They get trained to stand, walk and run straight, before they are let near any high technology. Some will still fall out of bed, but… Ah, those are the ones all ready for a hi-tech life locked away in a cave to help spy on the ones still able to walk straight. Being able to handle a line soon to be alien. See what I did there? Align. A line. Alien. See? Yeah, see how tired I am.

See how hostiles disturbing my sleep force me to babble on ya, instead of keeping things short. I should give ‘short’ a try still. Palace. Beatrix. Her son and Maxima. I saw them ‘all’.

No. Too short. Looking at the date, I knew something would be cooking, but I was too tired to care about it. Millenials have overdosed on the illuminutti propaganda in time to get pulled into some nostalgic spy wars. And some Manneke Pis. (Sorry about that. But it could have been worse.) From looking at how most of my work has been used for much propaganda, you would think me to be a highly paid consultant for international affairs. But, they refuse and deny the necessary life style based on “you do not look like much.” Mention numero two. See how fame without FAT pay check and damage claim has even the agents fooled? I do wonder what became of the girl working the register. Not because I care, but because she was used in another set up as well.

Focus. Push away the tire. Bladibla, alcoholic. Bladibla, candy. Bladibla, anger. Pay check. Bladibla to them. Deadbeat royalties. Ah, right. I was close enough to walk over to the boss and ask him about that pay check. Again. No redemption song playing this time, but I kept nice about it. And kept my distance. For the mystery was how it was possible to see Trix, then go buy some ‘food’ and then see the boss of Helland arrive too, is to be solved. As I walked away, a random prole to shout it was the new year’s dinner at the palace. I did not know, yet I was there. Just… in… time. UTTERLY IMPOSSIBLE, except that it happened. I was right there to see them wave my way.

Sure, I may be famous for being daft, but I am not that daft. Surely, they did not see me. I simply stood in line with some of the cameras and their men. If I was crazy, I would turn it into make believe. Write a fictional story of being important enough for them to wave at me while they seek to keep me at work without pay. But who has time for that? Only people who do not have to work hard in their sleep. Ever tried to keep track of four different story lines at once? Come on now. Do four walls not need a… roof? Uh oh… story moving towards a hostile commando after all. For I have not forgotten, and sure enough not forgiven.

Anyhoo. The boss was in town, and I got to see him near face-to-face. He wants to be famous too, you know. For me to write something nice about him on my site. No more of that crazy stuff about his brother. Have I no respect for the dead? Right. That one crazy article turned me into the number one conspiracy theorist as soon as I hit “publish”. It should have been utterly impossible, but I watched it happen. Anyway, can you believe that there was no helicopter around to warn me today? Some consider choppers overrated now? For me to write about the surplus of air planes instead. And for some reason more exposure on chemtrails is needed, so could I mention those military planes too? Sure, if one of them brings me my cheque… I was not going to mention money this year, but that was before I realized that I had not been invited to their fancy nancy dinner. Denying me my opportunity to get paid and stop threatening.

They do readily pay for me to get attacked and almost ignite a major war. You read that right. They almost led Europe into a war. Almost does not count, but still. Very close. Okay, what else? Well, bon appetit. They are probably still conniving over dinner at the palace right now. As I am also famous at state media, they will take it from here and give the proper propaganda details on this Dutch ‘Davos’. Details on them. The conniving ones. Not me. UTTERLY IMPROBABLE for me to see them, but ‘commando’ made sure. Save the millenials walking sideways like crabs from a war in Europe. Well, this year. Beyond that is for others to show. I am not a prophet, you know.